


And Never Brought to Mind

by Amy



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Gen, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amy/pseuds/Amy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, Katie-Kate? Is Kathy Griffin or Anderson Cooper the one with three heads?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Never Brought to Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resolute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolute/gifts).



Lucky is warm and comfortable on Kate's foot as she snuggles deeper into the beaten-up couch. Realistically, there are a lot of things she could be doing with her time- the week between Christmas and New Year's is full of obligations- but right now none of them seems like a better option than this.

Until the door opens and Clint walks in.

Okay. This looks bad.

"I thought you had a date," Kate says, because the best defense is usually a good offense.

"I thought this was my apartment, girly girl," Clint replies.

"Did she break up with you in the middle of the date again?" Kate asks. She feels a little bit of sympathy. Even though Clint thinks New Year's celebrations are bullshit- and she doubts that, despite him saying it loudly at least a dozen times in the past week alone- there's all that messy symbolism about one day determining the next 365. She just hopes that doesn't mean Lucky will go nuzzle him for sympathy. She's been plying him with pepperoni for the past two hours, and she's reached the perfect level of comfort.

"Naw, Avengers emergency."

"Where do we need to go?" Kate extracts one of her hands from Lucky's fur to reach for her bow.

"We don't. They just called her." There's a moment where Clint looks like he's going to question Kate's presence in his apartment again, but she can see the moment where he decides not to bother and just collapses onto the other side of the couch instead. Lucky stays on Kate's foot, but manages to lick Clint's face anyway. Lucky is a good dog. "Don't you have plans?"

"Invites to four different parties," she says.

Clint's a jerk, but he's _her_ jerk, so he doesn't ask her why instead of being at any of them she's lying on his couch in a purple tank top and pajama pants. "What are we watching?" he asks instead.

"Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin," Kate says. "I got us coffee."

"You got me coffee."

"I got us coffee." She nods at the coffee maker. It's really good coffee.

"It's over there," he says. He sounds more heartbroken at that than he did about Jess leaving mid-date.

"Maybe you should make a coffee-finding arrow," Kate offers. It's how he solves all his other problems.

"I think it would be easier to teach Lucky to fetch coffee," Clint says, scratching Lucky behind the ears. "Who's a good caffeine dog? Is it you, boy?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "You're lucky I need a refill," she says, gently dislodging Lucky from his perfect position to pad across the room. She can feel his eyes following her, presumably because the coffee machine is less than five feet from the half-empty box of pizza she brought over. "You know you're supposed to eat dog food, right?" she calls over her shoulder, but as she pours coffee into mugs, she snags a slice anyway. She likes how open Lucky is to bribes. And suck it, everyone who wonders what she got out of all those lessons her dad made her take, because she can walk with two cups of coffee and a slice of pizza without spilling a drop.

Clint doesn't even notice. He's too engrossed in the TV. Kate would be more surprised, but she's seen him raptly watch infomercials for six straight hours after a bad date. At least Anderson Cooper is entertaining.

"Hey, Katie-Kate?" Clint asks, fingers automatically wrapping around the mug she hands him without looking away from the screen.

"Yeah?"

"Is Kathy Griffin or Anderson Cooper the one with three heads?"

Now Kate looks at the screen. Someone with three heads is, indeed, front and center. All three heads are sharing a microphone. They're eating the microphone, but they're sharing it. "Neither," Kate says. "Give me your phone."

"Why do you need my phone?" Clint looks away from the television to narrow his eyes at Kate. "Are you going to send inappropriate text messages to Natasha again? Because I thought we agreed that wasn't cool."

"Clint," Kate says. "There is literally a three-headed creature on the television. Don't you think we should have someone in Avengers Tower deal with it?"

"Come on, it's just a stupid New Year's movie." Kate counts silently in her head while she waits for Clint to realize it's actually a live broadcast. His reaction would be worth it if there wasn't a three-headed thing in Times Square, one head lecturing at the camera in a language she doesn't recognize while the other two munch on a police blockade. She realizes with a dull horror that they probably ate Anderson Cooper, and suddenly all she can think about is how upset Billy's going to be.

"No one's at the Tower," Clint says.

"How do you know that?"

"Avengers emergency, remember? Jess got called?"

"Yeah, but you didn't. There's like a hundred Avengers, someone must be there."

"If they were," Clint says, "don't you think they'd be at Times Square by now?"

She hates when he's right. It sets such a dangerous precedent.

On the television, they see a police officer shoot at the three-headed thing. It plucks the bullet from the air and pops it delicately into the mouth of its right head.

"We're going to have to take the subway to Times Square on New Year's Eve, aren't we," Clint says. It's not a question. "Stupid superheroing."

Lucky looks up from the remains of his pizza and barks enthusiastically, because Lucky is an adorable dog with about as much common sense as his owner.

Kate sighs. "Come on, Lucky," she says. "We're going for walkies to fight an alien monster."

He licks her face. His breath smells like pepperoni.

She can hear Clint gathering his favorite trick arrows.

*

At ten PM on New Year's Eve, two people with bows, quivers, and an overly enthusiastic one-eyed dog don't even make anyone double take on the train from Bed-Stuy.

Kate isn't sure if that's because people have adjusted to the Avengers, because everyone's already drunk, or just because it's New York, but in either case, it makes it a lot easier than answering people's nosy questions.

They don't even bother trying to hide anything when they transfer to the R, even though Kate's well aware of the rules about both pets and weapons. One of the MTA employees gives Lucky a biscuit.

*

Pretty much anyone else would have come up with a plan, probably, but they aren't anyone else. They're Hawkeyes.

They get off the subway, flash Clint's Avengers card at anyone who looks like they might have authority, and fight their way through the crowds until they find themselves standing on the platform, surrounded by camera men and lights and boom mics and, oh yeah, a three-headed creature that isn't any less ugly in person than on screen.

"So which one of you ate Anderson Cooper?" Kate asks, relying on all the false bravado she has. She isn't sure if she's supposed to be referring to the three-headed thing as three different people or one person, but she's pretty sure the head that ate the celebrities is the first face she's shooting.

"None of them," a familiar voice from behind her says. She's not dumb enough to turn away- always keep your eye on the target- but she'd recognize Anderson Cooper's voice anywhere.

"You weren't eaten?" Kate calls, not letting her grip on the bow falter.

"We think they just wanted to be on camera," Kathy Griffin says.

The three heads, working together, form a decent a capella act, which kind of supports that point. Despite the chaos in front of her, Kate takes a moment to appreciate that this isn't even in the top ten weirdest days of her life.

"What head are we supposed to shoot?" she wonders.

"Should we shoot them?" Clint asks doubtfully. "They're not violent. Doesn't this go against the Avengers charter?"

"I never signed a charter. I can shoot whoever I want. Young Avengers rules."

"Katie-Kate, there's only enough room for one Hawkeye to be a PR nightmare, and I called that before you were even born."

"Because it won't be a PR nightmare when they devour Times Square on camera?"

"They're not going to- Lucky! Lucky, no! Bad dog!"

Kate's fast, but she doesn't have super speed. So she, just like Clint, can't stop their lovable, stupid mutt from pulling free of his leash and bounding over to the three-headed monster. He licks one face, then the other, then the third. The three-headed monster scratches behind his ears and Lucky barks happily.

She takes it back. Kate's life is _so_ weird.

When it becomes clear that they probably aren't going to eat Lucky and then her and then the rest of Times Square, she turns to look at Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper over her shoulder. "After we save your lives, both of you are going to have to sign something for my friend Billy, okay?" Then she trots forward to reclaim the dog.

Clint is already there, stroking a patch of Lucky's fur that's nowhere near where the three-headed monster's hand is and murmuring "Who's a good boy?" over and over, even though past history indicates that Lucky has absolutely no idea what the answer to that question is.

Lucky yips at Clint, then the three-headed monster, then Kate, and manages to lead all three of them off the stage. He nods at Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper, and for a second Kate wonders if he knew what he was doing this whole time. Then he licks himself, and Kate figures it was just dumb doggy luck.

*

It's no curling up on the couch in Clint's apartment, but it's still nice to watch Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin bantering. It's colder here, but they can't bleep out curses, and Kathy Griffin's pretty funny when the TV audiences are just seeing commercials.

At least, it's fun right until the last commercial break before midnight, and all million people in Times Square gasp as one.

The ball is stuck. The big, iconic, lit-up crystal ball that drops at exactly midnight. Because of course it does. It's a Hawkeye New Year's. That's how these things go.

"Aw, ball," Clint says despondently, but he's already reaching for his bow as he says it.

Kate sighs and nocks her arrow. "On three?" she says.

"On three."

Clint counts it out, and they both let their arrows fly at the same time. The ball resumes its drop. It's probably a few seconds off now, but whatever. They totally saved New Year's Eve.

Everyone, from the civilians to the celebrities to the three-headed monster, starts applauding. Kate's cool enough to pretend that Anderson Cooper applauding her shooting skills isn't a life-defining moment, but she's sure the only reason Clint doesn't know it's bull is that he doesn't know any celebrity who hasn't appeared on _Dog Cops_.

"Remember when I said I didn't want to spend holidays with you?" she asks. She's not even out of breath. This is just how Hawkeyes roll.

"When I gave you the sample Hawkeye costume I had for Halloween?"

"When you gave me the sexy ladies' Hawkeye costume with the miniskirt," Kate corrects.

Clint sounds wounded. "How was I supposed to know that was a sexy Hawkeye costume?" That he probably hadn't realized doesn't actually make it better. Although the fact that he agreed to wear instead of her maybe does a little.

"Jerk." But he's her jerk. "Anyway. Despite that. Today was good. I'm sorry that your luck with girls sucks, but I'm glad it means I got to spend tonight with you."

He laughs. "Happy New Year, Hawkeye."

"Happy New Year, Hawkeye."

The ball finishes dropping. The year lights up.

Lucky licks both of their faces. His breath smells like gross three-headed monster, but Kate barely cares.


End file.
